


The Mouse and the Lion

by theSapphireSky



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Angst, Awesome Molly Hooper, F/M, Happy Ending, Possessive Sherlock, Sherlock Is A Bit Not Good, promise!
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-11-09
Updated: 2017-05-28
Packaged: 2018-02-24 19:15:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,155
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2593166
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theSapphireSky/pseuds/theSapphireSky
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A Beauty and the Beast AU. </p><p>When Molly Hooper is rescued by the mysterious Sherlock Holmes, their lives are threatened by the criminal mastermind Moriarty. As secrets are unveiled and plans thwarted, will Sherlock finally find his heart? Will it be enough to keep them alive?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. How It All Began

‘Impudent fool!’ The howling wind whipped through the trees, beating the branches together in an ominous rhythm. In a small clearing, under the darkening clouds, a handsome man cowered in pain at the feet of a powerful witch. Her arms spread to the sky as she unleashed her wrath.

Her voice rose above the wind, condemnation falling heavily upon his shoulders, ‘In your arrogance and selfishness, you have believed yourself to be above reproach. You requested my services in selecting a bride, yet in your vanity, you betrayed her and broke her heart, as well as her spirit.’

The man moaned in agony, his face contorting as his limbs twisted and writhed against the magical bindings trapping him. ‘I didn’t know!’ He screamed as she unleashed a bolt of lightning just to his left.

‘Silence! Do you still believe I cannot see through your deceptions? You knew of your wife’s feelings for you, yet you considered yourself above someone so plain. In her distress, she has taken her own life. Her blood covers your life and you shall never be clean of it.’

The man cried out as his bindings tightened. The image of his wife flashed through his mind, her plain features pale in death, her body broken and forever unmoving.

‘Your mistress has been killed for her indiscretion, but you…no, death is too easy a punishment.’ He stared up at her, tears and sweat mixing as they coursed down his pale cheeks. Dread pooled in his stomach as she slowly lowered one hand to point at him, her bony finger never straying from his heart. ‘You I shall curse. It is not enough that you should live knowing you have destroyed the woman who loved you. No, let it be that all eyes that fall upon you see a hideous monster, as ugly as the heart you carry, so that you will know the same pain of rejection and disgust you yourself had inflicted upon your wife. You shall spend an eternity in shame and solitude.’

She raised her arm once more, the clouds swirling above them, and began speaking rapidly in Latin, lightning cracking all around. The wind beat her cloak against her body, but she paid it no mind.

‘No!’ The man bellowed, struggling mightily against his binds. Her voice rose and the wind increased, the trees nearly bowing from the force.

The witch stared down at him without pity, her eyes hard until she finally released his bindings. Everything went eerily still. The clouds vanished and the man’s gasping breaths broke the sudden silence. His limbs shook as he fell forward, catching himself before his face hit the ground.

‘What must I do, Great Witch, to change your powerful mind?’ He asked, trying to appeal to her vanity.

Her lips thinned as she stared at the pitiful sight before her. The curse was already taking effect as his features became distorted, the perception spell weaving its way into his aura.

‘My mind cannot be changed. However,’ she lifted her gaze past his bowed figure, ‘if you somehow manage to learn to love a woman, for her heart and not her appearance, and vow to be faithful to only her, the spell will be broken and you will be mortal once more.’

He jumped up and reached for her in anger, his hands itching to choke her, only to still in horror as he saw his bony, clawed hand. He slowly touched his face, feeling a vein of thick scars crossing his once handsome features. His hand shook at he moved it higher, no longer finding the familiar curls atop his head, but ridges and scars.

He whispered angrily, ‘What have you done to me?’

The witch’s lips twisted in irony, ‘I have given you a second-chance.’

‘A second-chance?’ He spat.

‘In time, you will understand.’

He stared at her in confusion and anger. He made to step closer, but his legs were shaky and weak, sending him to the ground with a grunt.

With a last, pitying smile, she turned from him, calling over her shoulder just before she vanished into the air.

‘Goodbye, Sherlock Holmes.’


	2. As Time Goes By

**150 Years Later**

‘Marguerite! You are late! The shelves shall not dust themselves, silly girl!’ The crotchety storeowner scolded the young woman as she raced up the back steps of the shop, her twin, brunette plaits covered in twigs and dirt. She flashed a smile at the stooped man, eliciting a good-natured groan from him. She could always charm her way back into his good graces with a smile.

‘Sorry, Mister Higgs,’ she laughed, ‘I got sidetracked by a particularly interesting flora. Its thorns grew in perfect symmetry!’

He sighed fondly, ‘One of these days, child, your wits will be lost and that smile will no longer be your ally.’ He shut the door behind her and tossed her a ratty rag. ‘Best get to work.’

She nodded, wrapping an apron over her simple, gray dress and setting about rearranging the stock on the shelves, making sure to not leave a single particle of dust behind. Unfortunately, as she made her way down the aisle, a trail of dirt and sticks fell from her hair. Unaware of this, Molly stooped down to clean the lower shelves.

‘Been playing with the pigs again, _Molly,_ ’ a mocking voice sounded above her. She jumped in surprise, bumping into the shelves and knocking over several cases of preserves, sending them to the ground to break and splatter at her feet.

‘James!’ she cried in dismay, surveying the damage. The black-haired man laughed at her predicament, his wide smile and large eyes adding an element of wickedness to his tone. ‘Don’t scare me like-’ her gaze caught the residual dirt she had dragged in mixing with the spilled preserves and her eyes widened in horror. ‘Oh, no! On, no, no, no!’ She immediately dropped the rag, pushing the man out of the way to grab the mop and bucket.

Before she could begin to clean up, Mister Higgs stepped into the aisle. She winced as he halted, his face growing red as he took in the mess.

‘Marguerite! What have you done, girl!’

James sniggered behind her as she stammered, ‘I’m so s-sorry, Mister Higgs. I didn’t know my hair… then James surprised me… it was an accident… I-I promise I’ll clean it up!’

He sighed, exasperated, ‘Hurry up, before a customer happens in and sees this mess. I’ll be taking the damages from your pay.’ He turned to James and plastered a smile on his face, not quite masking the disdain he held toward the young man, ‘Mister Moriarty, if there is anything you need, please ask.’

James waved him away.

‘Well done, Molly,’ James followed her as she began plunging the mop into the bucket of water, tears pricking her eyes. ‘How much will that fumble cost you? Hmmm? I’d say nearly half of your daily wage.’ He frowned mockingly, ‘Who will pay for dear old father’s expenses this week now? Certainly not you.’

A sob rose in Molly’s throat. He was right. Every penny she earned, every single cent went directly to pay for either her father’s medicine, the bare minimum food they needed, or the land taxes. Something would have to be sacrificed this week. Without his medicine, father would be in terrible pain. If they failed to pay their taxes one more time, they would be evicted without mercy.

Molly sighed. It looked like she would have to forego a couple days of food. She would be able to get enough for father and at most four days of lunches for her.

A cold hand settled on hers, halting her work. A coil of dread wound itself tightly in her chest, as she raised shuttered eyes to the dark gaze of the youngest Moriarty heir. His long fingers stroked hers, sending shivers of terror through her body. She trembled under his stare. A wicked smile graced his pale features, his eyes darkening in pleasure at her discomfort.

‘However, if you were to reconsider my offer, your father would be taken care of. I promise,’ the last two words were sung in an eerie pitch. Molly’s eyes widened and she gulped.

‘I am not accustomed to being denied, Molly. It would be _wise_ of you to accept,’ he turned her hand over, tracing the lines of her palm.

‘Please, leave us alone,’ she whispered. The Moriarty’s were known for their underhandedness and scheming. Molly was no fool. She knew James would never follow through on his promise. At least, not in the way he intended for her to take it.

He suddenly grasped her wrist in a vice-like grip. She gasped and tried to pull her hand away. ‘Let me go,’ she hissed, a few tears escaping.

‘Mister Moriarty, if there is something I can help you with, perhaps we shall leave Miss Hooper to her chores.’ The firm voice of Mister Higgs broke over them. James’ hand tightened around her wrist before reluctantly letting go.

‘Very well,’ he stared at her, a smirk on his face. He leaned closer, the smell of rich cologne washing over her, ‘But do not think I have any intention of conceding defeat, Marguerite Hooper. I will have my way. I always have my way.’

He stepped back and Molly nearly sagged in relief. With a wink, he turned about and sauntered away. She swallowed thickly, more tears falling down her cheeks. Her grip on the mop’s handle became almost painful as she desperately fought against breaking down in sobs.

_Oh, God. What am I do to?_

* * *

 

The sun had already set as Molly made her way home that evening. Her hand shook as she unlocked the heavy door, entering the small abode. ‘Father, I’m home,’ she called out, pasting a happy smile on her face.

A tired voice called back, ‘In the kitchen, darling.’

Schooling her features, suppressing the gnawing hunger in her stomach, she walked to the back of the house. The scent of warm stew nearly knocked her over and she pressed a hand over her belly. She entered the small kitchen, her father’s stooped figure bent over the stove, stirring a small pot. She smiled fondly and went to his side, pecking him on the cheek and making a show of looking into the pot.

‘Mm, stew,’ she inhaled deeply. ‘Smells lovely.’

Matthias Hooper smiled weakly and kissed her cheek affectionately. ‘It was the least I could do. I knew when you did not arrive home on time, you would be working quite late, and I wanted to do something for you. You work much too hard.’

Molly tilted her head and smiled sadly. She pulled him close for a hug, resting her chin on his shoulder, blinking back tears. She had worked later than usual, trying to make a smidgen extra money, and also make it less obvious that she was skipping a meal.

Of course her father, the man who raised her, would be selfless enough to make her dinner, even if the process of standing and bending was agonizing to his frail body.

‘Thank you,’ she whispered, her voice thick with emotion. She kissed his cheek once more and pulled back. She busied herself with setting the table with their chipped dishes and slightly dirty water, brushing a few stray tears here and there.

When the stew was finally ready, they sat down together. Matthias bowed his head, offering up a prayer of thanksgiving. Molly found her eyes unable to close, fixed on the wrinkled face of her only family, her loving father. Her heart broke a little at how frail he looked. He had done all he could to raise her, without a mother, and had indulged her curiosity and adored her clumsiness, never letting on how his health was failing him. Now, he needed her. He needed her strength and support.

‘Amen,’ Matthias raised his head and caught Molly’s gaze. She smiled at him, hiding the pain eating away at her.  She took a bite of the watered down stew. It tasted bland and did nothing to sate her hunger. But she smiled anyway.

‘Delicious.’

They ate in silence. All too soon, the stew was gone, and it was time for Matthias to turn in. Exhausted from the strain of standing and working in the kitchen, Matthias needed help standing up and getting dressed for bed. Molly, long accustomed to being his nursemaid, supported him down the hall to the small bedroom. She left him to sit on the bed as she went about gathering his nightclothes.

Pulling the tunic over his head, she gasped at the dark, mottled bruise covering his left ribs.

‘Father!’ She cried out. ‘What happened?’

Ashamed, he turned his head. Reluctantly, he admitted, ‘I may have had a fainting spell yesterday.’

‘Why did you not tell me?’ She asked quietly as she knelt in front of him. He smiled sadly at her.

‘It is my job to protect you. There was nothing you could have done to prevent it, worrying you would be a pointless endeavor.’

Molly frowned as she finished dressing him in his nightclothes, ‘A pointless endeavor, indeed. Has Doctor Watson been informed of your ‘fainting spell’?’

Matthias nodded solemnly. ‘It is expected as my health deteriorates. He, once again, recommended a full-time caregiver.’

She sighed and sat down beside him. ‘We cannot afford a full-time caregiver. We cannot afford any type of caregiver.’ She leaned over to rest her head gently on his bony shoulder. ‘What shall we do?’

They sat in silence, both wishing to protect the other from the reality facing them. A future of pain, suffering, and sadness.

All too soon, the weary day caught up with both and Molly carefully pressed her father into laying down, covering him with the thin quilt as he snored lightly. With a gentle kiss to his brow, she silently left the room. She closed the door behind her, pressing her forehead against the thin wood.

Fainting was the first sign of imminent madness. Without proper care and medicine, her father would succumb to his body’s increasing deterioration and eventually die from his illness.

Tears flowed down her cheeks.

_I cannot lose my father. Not him. He is all I have left in this cruel, cold world._

Hand covering her mouth, she fled to her room, finally breaking down into the sobs she’d been holding in all day.

* * *

 

The next day, with a trembling hand, Molly knocked on the large oak door three times. She pulled her wrap tighter around her body, warding off the early morning chill. The door opened with a groan, its hinges creaking.

‘I-I need your help,’ she whispered, ashamed of her stammering. But she stood tall, refusing to be intimidated. ‘My father is too ill to remain uncared for.’

‘Are you prepared for the consequences of my assistance?’

Molly squared her shoulders, ‘If you promise to give him a full-time caregiver until he either recovers or perishes, I shall do whatever you ask of me.’

She waited with bated breath as he considered her proposal.

‘Very well.’ James Moriarty smiled, his wicked eyes crinkling in glee. ‘Oh, I have great plans for you, Molly Hooper.’


	3. The Beginning of the End

** Four Months Later **

Molly’s lungs burned with fire as she crashed through the thick brush, branches slapping her face, leaving minute trails of blood in their wake. Her cloak snagged on a thorny bush and she nearly fell backward as she was jerked to a stop. Desperately, she tugged at it, the threads of her faithful, yet worn cloak fraying as it ripped from its thorny captor.

‘Margueriiiite!’ The lilting Irish voice neared, mocking her as she gasped. With a cry of dismay, she dove back into the thick forest, stumbling over overgrown roots.

‘By golly, Miss Molly, you are testing my patience,’ James called. Her legs threatened to give in, but she pressed on, pushing through the ever thickening foliage. His voice taunted her steps, ‘Your father may be dead, little mouse, but your life still belongs to me!’

Tears coursed down her cheeks, blurring her vision. Suddenly, her foot caught under a large root and she went tumbling to the ground, a sick pull wrenching her leg as her ankle twisted. Biting back a cry of pain, Molly slowly pushed herself up and examined her tender ankle.

James’ calls came ever closer, ‘Do not make me wait, Molly Mouse. Your punishment will be… less severe if you return voluntarily.’

She looked around desperately for something, anything, to cover herself with or hide under or use to stabilize her ankle. Nothing. Tears of pain and helplessness dripped onto her dirty cloak.

‘Last chance, Marguerite,’ James shouted, his voice bordering on edgy. ‘The consequences of your disobedience will be most severe if I have to retrieve you by force.’  
The forest went silent save for the rustling of the wind through the bare branches, which creaked as they swayed. Molly held her breath, praying that James would not find her.

A twig snapped behind her. She whipped her head up in fear, fully expecting to see the scowling face of James Moriarty. Instead, a hooded figure, dressed in a black cloak with most of his face covered by a tight, black scarf, stared down at her.

Molly gasped and scrambled back, jostling her ankle. She bit her lip to keep from crying out. A cold hand covered her exposed leg and her eyes flew open. The figure knelt at her feet and began to gently probe the rapidly swelling appendage. She winced in pain, fresh tears pricking her eyes.

‘Very well, _Molly_ ,’ James voice broke over them, closer than ever. ‘When I find you, _and I will find you_ , my little mouse, I will take great pleasure in _skiiiinning_ you for your impudence.’

Molly’s breath caught in her throat, terror paralyzing her. The stranger let go of her ankle and twisted to look in the direction of James’ call. Before Molly could scramble away, the stranger turned back, pulling a stoppered bottle from beneath his cloak and pulling the cork. A strong hand reached out and gripped the back of her neck, pulling her closer. She started to cry out, but the fear of James hearing her was still fresh. She struggled futilely to get free. The opened bottle was pressed under her nose, a pungently bitter smell rising from it as she reluctantly breathed it in.

Almost instantly, she stopped struggling, her entire body beginning to shut down. Her eyes rolled back into her head and her lids fluttered shut. She barely felt a pair of strong arms lift her high against a solid chest.

James’ voice faded into the distance as she succumbed to the darkness.

* * *

 

The sun gently peeked through the curtains, caressing Molly’s face as she awoke. Slowly, she opened her eyes. She frowned in confusion at the strange surroundings. A large, cozy room greeted her, with large windows along two walls and rich velvet curtains adorning each one.

She sat up, the sheet covering her body falling away to reveal a silky nightgown. Dazed and confused, Molly fingered the soft fabric.

‘Good to see you awake, dearie.’

Molly gasped in surprise and turned to see an older woman enter the room, carrying a tray laden with food.

‘I know you must be hungry, so eat up,’ the woman placed the tray on a small table by the bed and then turned to open the curtains. ‘He’ll will be coming by later, I’m sure, especially now that you’re awake. Best you have your strength up for that.’

‘Who will be coming? Who are you?’ Molly managed to ask, blushing at her impertinence, but too confused to particularly care. 'How did I get in these clothes?'

With a gentle smile, the gray-haired woman walked over and sat on the edge of the bed, ‘Martha Hudson, a pleasure to meet you, Molly.’

Molly blinked in surprise. ‘You know who I am?’

‘Of course,’ Martha placed a wrinkled hand over Molly’s, patting it gently. ‘There is not a soul around who does not know of James Moriarty’s betrothed.’

At the mention of his name, Molly shrank away, jerking her hand back. A flash of something, _was that pity,_ flashed across Martha’s face. With an understanding smile, she rose from the bed and walked to the door.

‘Eat up, Molly dear,’ she called over her shoulder as she opened the door, ‘He’ll be coming soon.’

‘Wait,’ Molly called out, ‘Who will be coming?’

Martha simply smiled and shut the door, the lock clicking ominously.


	4. 'And if I refuse?'

In a distant room of the estate, two men were staring the other down. Doctor John Watson, his blond hair bordering on gray, clenched his fists in anger and very nearly growled at the taller man.

'You cannot keep her here.'

'Of course I can,' the tall man scoffed. 'And I will, John.'

'Whatever for?'

'She was running from Moriarty. Her fear and dread were easily seen, she has no desire to be wed to the man.'

'Then free her from him, Sherlock. Get her out of the country. Don't imprison her here,' John snarled.

Sherlock's eyes narrowed, anger flashing across the small portion of his face not swathed in black cloth. 'She is not a prisoner,' he growled.

'Then why did you drug her? Why bring her here, only to lock her in a room?'

Sherlock didn't respond, choosing to glare all the more vehemently at his friend.

'She is terrified, Sherlock. I saw the remnants of her tears as I bandaged her ankle, all the while she twisted and flailed in tormented sleep. The drug, as powerful as you made it, did nothing to stifle her terror. Moriarty is a bastard and he haunts her even in her own mind. Are you intending to treat her in the same manner?'

'Do not be so preposterous, Watson,' Sherlock whirled about in a huff, striding over to the fireplace and roughly withdrawing a dagger from where it was imbedded in the mantle. He twirled the sharp knife in his hand as he continued speaking, 'She is a valuable asset. One that will be treated as such; no more, no less. When she has provided me with sufficient information, I will release her.'

John shook his head, an angry, grim smile on his face, 'I may not have your powers of deduction, but I know it was no coincidence you were in the woods last night when she decided to flee from Moriarty.'

Sherlock sneered at his friend, 'I may have been keeping record of her comings and goings in order to await an opportunity to accost her about her fiancée. From what evidence I've gathered, she is not involved with the youngest Moriarty willingly. Not entirely, at least. Last night was merely a happenstance of fortunate proportions. I rescued her from her true captor and will now offer her freedom from him through her cooperation and divulgence of his activities.'

'In short, she will only be free when you get what you want,' John growled, his fists clenching at his sides.

'Yes.' Sherlock tilted his head and stopped flipping the dagger. 'Is that not good?'

'Good God, Sherlock Holmes,' John laughed in disbelief, 'nearly two centuries old and you haven't even begun to understand how utterly immoral that is! She is a victim! And you would keep her here, against her will.'

The taller man's eyes narrowed in thought and he began twirling the dagger in his hand. 'Moriarty's Empire will only increase unless I manage to get an inside look at its workings. I certainly can't go in there. And you are rumored to be cavorting with that 'great Beast that haunts the woodlands', which is me, by the way,' he waved his hand mockingly, 'Suspicions would only be raised. She is the best, the  _only,_  option.'

'Maybe,' John sighed in exasperation, 'if you asked her for her cooperation, she would give it willingly. She does not seem bound to the Moriartys favorably. Do not force her, Sherlock. That's all I ask. Don't force her to choose which of you she'd rather be a captive of.'

'And if she refuses to cooperate?'

'Then that is her choice. Respect it and free her.'

Sherlock stared hard at John for several minutes, his mind whirring through a thousand possibilities. Suddenly, he whirled about, his arm outstretched and the dagger flew through the air to embed itself in the far wall. Without turning back around, he growled, 'And we would lose our best chance at toppling the Moriarty Empire. I cannot risk that.'

With a great sweep of his cloak, Sherlock strode from the room. The door slammed shut behind him, echoing in the cavernous room. John stared at the still trembling dagger, nearly buried to the hilt in the woodwork. A sense of foreboding seemed to weigh on his shoulders.

With great trepidation, he followed after his friend.

_This may very well be the beginning of the end._

* * *

The tray of food sat untouched as Molly anxiously stared at the closed door, her heart pounding in fright, her stomach coiled in dread.

The bedding was on the floor, where Molly had flung it in anger. She had thrown the covers off herself in an attempt to rise and flee the room. Unfortunately, a sharp pain in her leg had halted her flight. She stared down at her legs, the hem of the unfamiliar white dressing gown having ridden up to midcalf.

Her right ankle was bound in a splint made of carved wood, white cloth wrapped tightly around it.

The memories of the night in the wood drifted across her mind and she flinched at the echo of James' calls in her head. She remembered the wrenching pain as she had fallen. Tenderly, she touched the wrappings, remembering the terror of waiting to be found, like an injured doe in the sights of an archer.

But it wasn't James who found her.

She closed her eyes, envisioning the strange man in black.

She tried to recall his face, but her memories were muddled. Phantom arms embraced her as she remembered being lifted, the sounds of the forest and James' taunts fading into nothingness.

A bottle held under her nose.

He had drugged her.

Her eyes flew open as she gasped.

He'd kidnapped her.

Suddenly, the latch clicked on the door.

Molly scrambled back against the headboard, terror flooding her entire being, overwhelming the stiff pain as she jostled her ankle. The door opened slowly and a man entered the room.

The man garbed in black.

She watched with wide eyes as the man walked further into the room, but stayed in the shadows. He wore a black tunic, tied with a thick belt and black trousers tucked into knee boots. He wore the same scarf over his head and face as he had worn the night in the woods. A sword hung by his side.

'It was you,' she whispered in thinly disguised fear. 'You were in the woods. Who are you?'

He remained silent, hands clasped behind his back. He stood some distance from her in the dark, but she could see sharp, chromatic eyes peering through the slit in the tight fabric.

Molly gulped, summoning her courage in the face of this unknown man, and retorted 'Why did you rescue me?'

The man laughed, muffled slightly by the scarf. His voice, though hindered by the fabric, was deep and clear as he answered ominously, 'Who says I rescued you?'

Her heart nearly stopped as her fear returned tenfold, dread following in its wake.

'Now, Marguerite,' his voice deepened as he stepped closer, 'Why were you running from James Moriarty?'

She swallowed past the lump of terror in her throat, but still remained obstinate in spite of her darkening circumstances. 'My reasons are my own.'

He chuckled deeply, as though amused by her spite. He walked forward to stand at the foot of the bed, one hand coming to rest on the hilt of his sword, the other on the fabric covered post that rose to the ceiling, which cast his face into shadow once more. 'Very well. You may keep your reasons. It seems, though, we both hold little affection for the youngest Moriarty heir, James. But he holds some form of affection for you.'

Molly narrowed her eyes at him, 'Kidnapping me will do you no good. James will find me. He always finds me. He is a skilled hunter and he will take great delight in torturing you for even touching me. Then he will kill you and he will take his time doing it, most likely in a humiliating and degrading way.'

Even to her own ears, she sounded resigned, despite her attempt to sound threatening. She sighed inwardly and lowered her head, even as the man in black seemed to scoff at her warning. The brief taste of freedom she'd had the night before had faded. This man was keeping her locked away. James, when he found her, would make her watch him destroy this man, then he'd lock her away, as well.

A lone tear escaped and caressed her cheek.

She was alone.

Her life would never be hers again. She would always be bound to James. Even if she were to find an escape, one that was successful, the fear that he'd find her would haunt her. And she knew he'd never stop looking.

This man, this kidnapper, had drugged her and locked her away. Even if James were unable to find her, she'd be a prisoner here instead.

But would he be as terrible as James?

Surely someone as seemingly gentle as Martha would not be employed or even associated with someone evil or wicked. The servants of the Moriartys were few and were all as malicious and horrible as their masters.

Her best chance, her only hope, of being free from James' grip, was this man.

'What do you want from me?' She whispered, abandoning all pretenses of being obstinate and turned her head toward the window.

'You will help me destroy Moriarty and his empire,' he stated, ready with his demand, as though he knew she would inevitably acquiesce.

She turned her gaze back to him once more. 'And if I refuse?'

His chromatic eyes narrowed ever so slightly.

Molly closed her eyes and took a deep breath.

'What must I do?'


	5. Only A Matter of Time

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well... there's really no excuse for a 2 1/2 year delay, is there. I'm truly sorry for everyone's who has been waiting! I had kind of written myself into a corner, then just never tried to get out of it. So, here's hoping I can! :) 
> 
> TRIGGER WARNING: violence, murder (nothing graphic)

Molly hissed in pain. Doctor Watson apologized under his breath as he examined her ankle, but Molly ignored it. Upon the Doctor’s entrance, she had been shocked to find her good friend conspiring with the man holding her hostage. And her shock had faded to a deep anger. 

‘It’s only a mild sprain. You should be on your feet again in a day or two, but no excessive stress on it for at least two weeks.’ He tied off the bandage and laid his hand over hers in comfort. ‘I was sorry to hear about your father’s passing. I trust his private nurse was able to make his final days comfortable.’

Molly glared at him and shifted out of his reach. 

Watson sighed and stood from the bed. As he walked toward the door, he stopped to speak with the black-garbed man who had been watching from the shadows, no doubt scowling behind his mask. ‘I’ll be back after my rounds tomorrow. I suppose it would be too much to ask that you leave her alone to recover.’

The man’s eyes slowly met the Doctor’s and Watson’s shoulders slumped. 

‘Just remember, she’s been through a lot recently. Try not to be… yourself.’ 

The door shut behind the doctor with a  _ snick _ , leaving Molly alone with her captor. They stared at each other in silence until finally the man moved. He crossed the room toward the window and took a seat in the plush armchair facing her bed, propping his elbows on his knees.

‘You should eat.’ He admonished, nodding at the untouched tray. 

Molly lifted her chin in defiance. But just then her stomach lamented its emptiness loudly and she swore he smirked. 

‘It’s not poisoned, I promise.’ 

Without looking away from him, she reached over and hesitantly picked up a piece of bread. It smelled heavenly and was still slightly warm from the oven. She took a small bite, groaned in delight, and eagerly bit off more. It was simple, plain, without garnish, and yet it was the most delicious bread she’d had in years. 

When that piece was gone, she reached for the bowl of fruit, completely forgetting the man watching her.

‘Starvation as punishment.’

His voice broke over her and she froze, an apple poised by her mouth. She blinked at him in surprise. He was staring at the apple in her hand and then locked eyes with her. 

‘Moriarty. He would refuse you meals for days if you displeased him.’

The apple fell and her heart raced. ‘How did you know that?’

He leaned back in the chair. ‘By the way you are consuming the food -’

‘Maybe I’m just hungry,’ she interrupted defensively.

‘No,’ he shook his head. ‘You’re afraid. Afraid that this will be the last meal you have for an indefinite period of time. He’s tried to condition you to obedience, but yet you still rebel; so food is a luxury, one you do not wish to miss out on when available.’

He stood and paced toward her, his eyes were searching. 

‘What else did he do to you?’

She imagined behind the mask, his brow would be furrowed in concentration. She looked down and picked up the apple with shaking hands. The skin was still unbroken and its crimson colour filled her vision.

Molly closed her eyes and squeezed the apple until her nails pierced the skin, drops of juice sliding down her fingers.

_ ‘Little Miss Molly, what am I to do with you?’ James tsked lightly, but his eyes were dark with anger. She braced herself for the slap, but the sting of his hand still surprised her. She stumbled back and bit back the tears that threatened to break free. He had no pity for tears.  _

_ His hand gripped her braid and pulled her head back until she was staring at him. He grinned widely and fear thrummed through her. He leaned down, his voice an eerie whisper against her ear. ‘Remember, I. Own. You. Stop fighting me.’ _

_ She gritted her teeth against the urge to vomit. His grip loosened and his fingers trailed down her side. She closed her eyes and turned her head, grimacing when he pressed his nose to her neck and breathed in deep.  _

_ Then he was gone, standing across the room. His face was covered in darkness and Molly trembled in fear. _

_ ‘Shall we try again?’ Without waiting for a reply, he lifted his arms. _

_ A blast of red light hit her and she screamed. _

oOo

‘Please, sir! I was only obeying orders! Please-’

The man’s pleas were cut short.

James Moriarty rolled his eyes as the now-headless body of the night guard slumped to floor. With another wave of James’ hand, the body appeared to catch on fire before vanishing entirely. Only a small scorch mark on the wooden floor was evidence. 

‘Oh, Sebastian,’ he called out merrily.

‘Sir?’ Sebastian peered inside the room. Seeing the mark, he slumped inside with the mop and bucket, mumbling under his breath about the stupidity of scrubbing away the mark when James could easily take care of it himself.

James let him complain. Good help was hard to find, and keep, these days. And Sebastian, for all his grumbling, had yet to fail him. And if he got too annoying, well, James could just take his vocal chords out.

Pouring himself a drink, James walked over to the window. The plan was moving along nicely. 

‘Why’dya kill him? He only did what ya told ‘im and let her-’

‘Enough!’ James roared, whirling about and throwing the glass at the manservant, who managed to only just duck out of the way in time. 

Turning back to the window, James eyed the edge of his lands where the forest began. True, there really had been no reason to kill the guard. But James was never one to adhere to reason and the man had been annoying; not to mention James could sense the guard softening toward the girl. And that just wouldn’t do. 

And if there was one thing he had learned from the error of others, it was that the fewer people who knew the full extent of one’s plans, the better.  

In the distance, dark and ominous clouds rolled over the sky and a roll of thunder rumbled the ground. The air was thickening with magic and his fingers twitched in anticipation.

He smiled to himself. It was only a matter of time now.

**Author's Note:**

> Oh, yes. I'm back with another Victorian-era fic and it promises to be a lovely, angst-ridden dark fairy-tale. Reviews are welcome, as always. I do so adore reading them!


End file.
